travel karma
I believe in travel karma. I try to tip well, in restaurants, cabs, and hotels to appease the gods and build up my store of positive travel karma. I try to smile in airports, recognizing that the security screeners are just doing their job (though, I will admit, this gets harder and harder to do). I try to be a happy, cooperative customer in the hopes that, in some sort of cosmic equation, in return, flights will arrive on time, bags will not be lost, reservations will be honored.
It's not working in India.
Or perhaps it's just working selectively. While we continue to have transendent experience after transcendent experience, we're having bad luck with hotels.
I got a good hotel my first night in Bombay, a new place by the airport. The neighborhood was dodgy, but the hotel was nice enough - marble and glass, scandinavian furniture, working hot water. But the two places we stayed in Bangalore were tough. The one by the camp - a Crown Royal Plaza "apartment hotel" - was half-finished, ugly, and the sheets smelled bad. Oh, and no hot water.
I thought the place in downtown Bangalore was an upgrade - and it was, for me. I got a renovated room, with a wooden floor and a decent view - J. got one with nasty carpet and no hot water, so she showed up at my door early in the morning, in pajamas, to use mine. The electricity was dodgy, the conference room decrepit, but my only real complaint is when ESPN lost its picture during the fourth quarter of the Superbowl.
All of these were the Ritz Carlton compared to the hotel where R and I met up in Bombay.
Before attempting to explain the Hotel Godwin, let me attempt to explain Bombay. Bombay is one of the largest cities in the world. It's built on a series of islands and peninsulas, jutting out into the Indian Ocean. It appears to have been built from the south upwards - a military base now occupies the southern tip, followed by a historical port neighborhood, Colaba, then the downtown, and, spreading out to the north, the new neighborhoods being built now. The Bombay of Bollywood, multinational companies, gleaming apartment buildings and my young, hip friends? Very, very far to the north - further north than the airport, 20 km from downtown.
With only one day in Bombay, R and I decided to stay in Colaba, near the Gateway to India, the Prince of Wales Museum and all the other tourist attractions. And, being Rough Guide-clutching psuedo budget travellers, we decided not to stay in the Intercontinental in Colaba, but in the "top-class three star" Godwin. (We're ceremonially burning the Rough Guide when we arrive in Delhi in a week.)
The lobby of the Godwin looks like that of a seedy residence hotel in New York. I arrived around midnight - finished up my meetings in Bangalore, flew to Bombay and took a cab into town - and was met by three bellmen in grungy, washed out uniforms. None took my baggage. All wanted a tip. The room reserved for us - the double room, for me and my wife - had twin beds. Not having seen said wife for a week or so, I thought a double bed would be a good idea. So they moved me into room 106, aka, "The Peacock Lounge".
While I didn't get the narrative from the hotel staff, I'm guessing that the Peacock Lounge was, in fact, the hotel's bar at one point. A 15 meter by 5 meter room, with a marble bar and kitchen at one end, war-beaten couches at the other, and a petite double bed, in the middle, thrown in as an afterthought. A pervasive smell of mildew, pre-smoked cigarette butts thoughtfully strewn on the table, a bathmat in the bathroom so disgusting I used a towel as a glove to fold it up and hide it under the sink.
You're thinking, "Why did you stay in this place, you fool?" Well, for one, R. was en route. Not being an international woman of mystery, her cellphone doesn't speak GSM. So I couldn't call her and tell her to turn her cab around to the airport hotel I'd stayed at on the first day. Second, I'd pre-paid for the room. That seems to happen a lot in India - everyone wants your "voucher" when you stay in a hotel. (More on that in a moment.) And it was only two nights...
...the first of which was very long, indeed. The Peacock Lounge has a full wall of glass, but no openable windows. Nor does it have a fan, probably because there's no way to draw air into the room. But oh, does it have an air conditioner. There's something wonderfully ironic about being in one of the sweatiest, hottest cities in the world and freezing your ass off.
Chastened by our Bombay experience - and warned by our Bombay friends that Rajastan is packed with tourists - we rushed to book hotels. I got online and booked a lovely 1930s-style five star for our last night in Delhi, and a non-descript but likely tolerable Holiday Inn in Agra. And, wonder of wonders, the one hotel in Jaisalmer recommended to us was available! On Expedia! For only $60 a night! I snatched up two nights immediately.
And it seemed like our hotel karma had shifted, for the place we stayed in Jodhpur is one of the loveliest I've stayed at anywhere in the world. The Agit Bhawan Palace, it's the "little brother palace" to the ludicrious palace that dominates Jodhpur's skyline. The real palace costs $750 a night and features an indoor cinema and a museum. The little brother palace costs less than $100 a night, for which you get a "villa", filled with stained glass, curving walls and prints of photos from the height of the Raj. The terrace overlooks a pristine swimming pool, a garden, the stage where they hold puppet shows. R and I spent the late afternoon on our terrace, spontaneously giggling with happiness.
Our first night in Jodhpur was intended purely as a stop-over. Our goal was Jaisalmer, a town carved of sandstone, deep in the Thar desert, near the Pakistani border. So one night at the Bhawan, two in Jaisalmer, then two at the Bhawan again before Jaipur. So, after a day-long drive - including detours for a circumambulation of a temple, a sandstorm, and a pond full of huge cranes - we found ourselves, dusty and exhausted at the "best hotel in Jaisalmer".
And shit out of luck.
If we are to believe Expedia, a confirmation number for the reservation (which they gave me, over the phone) was faxed from the hotel to Expedia, guaranteeing our reservation. If we are to believe the hotel, they've never heard of us, Expedia, or the Internet. Expedia was hugely apologetic, offering a gift certificate and asking the hotel to book us other accomodations. The hotel was not apologetic. After an hour's long standoff in the lobby, they grudgingly called the hotel next door, which found us their last room, with twin beds. And then they charged me $15 for the call to Expedia...
So we're not in the best hotel in Jaisalmer. And tomorrow, we check out of our twin beds and next door to another hotel that isn't the best hotel in Jaisalmer. But I am consoled by the lovely fort that dominates the town, the narrow alleys of the havelis, the promise of a camel ride and sunset over the dunes tomorrow. And the fact that we're returning to one of the nicest hotels in the entire world in about 48 hours...
It's not working in India.
Or perhaps it's just working selectively. While we continue to have transendent experience after transcendent experience, we're having bad luck with hotels.
I got a good hotel my first night in Bombay, a new place by the airport. The neighborhood was dodgy, but the hotel was nice enough - marble and glass, scandinavian furniture, working hot water. But the two places we stayed in Bangalore were tough. The one by the camp - a Crown Royal Plaza "apartment hotel" - was half-finished, ugly, and the sheets smelled bad. Oh, and no hot water.
I thought the place in downtown Bangalore was an upgrade - and it was, for me. I got a renovated room, with a wooden floor and a decent view - J. got one with nasty carpet and no hot water, so she showed up at my door early in the morning, in pajamas, to use mine. The electricity was dodgy, the conference room decrepit, but my only real complaint is when ESPN lost its picture during the fourth quarter of the Superbowl.
All of these were the Ritz Carlton compared to the hotel where R and I met up in Bombay.
Before attempting to explain the Hotel Godwin, let me attempt to explain Bombay. Bombay is one of the largest cities in the world. It's built on a series of islands and peninsulas, jutting out into the Indian Ocean. It appears to have been built from the south upwards - a military base now occupies the southern tip, followed by a historical port neighborhood, Colaba, then the downtown, and, spreading out to the north, the new neighborhoods being built now. The Bombay of Bollywood, multinational companies, gleaming apartment buildings and my young, hip friends? Very, very far to the north - further north than the airport, 20 km from downtown.
With only one day in Bombay, R and I decided to stay in Colaba, near the Gateway to India, the Prince of Wales Museum and all the other tourist attractions. And, being Rough Guide-clutching psuedo budget travellers, we decided not to stay in the Intercontinental in Colaba, but in the "top-class three star" Godwin. (We're ceremonially burning the Rough Guide when we arrive in Delhi in a week.)
The lobby of the Godwin looks like that of a seedy residence hotel in New York. I arrived around midnight - finished up my meetings in Bangalore, flew to Bombay and took a cab into town - and was met by three bellmen in grungy, washed out uniforms. None took my baggage. All wanted a tip. The room reserved for us - the double room, for me and my wife - had twin beds. Not having seen said wife for a week or so, I thought a double bed would be a good idea. So they moved me into room 106, aka, "The Peacock Lounge".
While I didn't get the narrative from the hotel staff, I'm guessing that the Peacock Lounge was, in fact, the hotel's bar at one point. A 15 meter by 5 meter room, with a marble bar and kitchen at one end, war-beaten couches at the other, and a petite double bed, in the middle, thrown in as an afterthought. A pervasive smell of mildew, pre-smoked cigarette butts thoughtfully strewn on the table, a bathmat in the bathroom so disgusting I used a towel as a glove to fold it up and hide it under the sink.
You're thinking, "Why did you stay in this place, you fool?" Well, for one, R. was en route. Not being an international woman of mystery, her cellphone doesn't speak GSM. So I couldn't call her and tell her to turn her cab around to the airport hotel I'd stayed at on the first day. Second, I'd pre-paid for the room. That seems to happen a lot in India - everyone wants your "voucher" when you stay in a hotel. (More on that in a moment.) And it was only two nights...
...the first of which was very long, indeed. The Peacock Lounge has a full wall of glass, but no openable windows. Nor does it have a fan, probably because there's no way to draw air into the room. But oh, does it have an air conditioner. There's something wonderfully ironic about being in one of the sweatiest, hottest cities in the world and freezing your ass off.
Chastened by our Bombay experience - and warned by our Bombay friends that Rajastan is packed with tourists - we rushed to book hotels. I got online and booked a lovely 1930s-style five star for our last night in Delhi, and a non-descript but likely tolerable Holiday Inn in Agra. And, wonder of wonders, the one hotel in Jaisalmer recommended to us was available! On Expedia! For only $60 a night! I snatched up two nights immediately.
And it seemed like our hotel karma had shifted, for the place we stayed in Jodhpur is one of the loveliest I've stayed at anywhere in the world. The Agit Bhawan Palace, it's the "little brother palace" to the ludicrious palace that dominates Jodhpur's skyline. The real palace costs $750 a night and features an indoor cinema and a museum. The little brother palace costs less than $100 a night, for which you get a "villa", filled with stained glass, curving walls and prints of photos from the height of the Raj. The terrace overlooks a pristine swimming pool, a garden, the stage where they hold puppet shows. R and I spent the late afternoon on our terrace, spontaneously giggling with happiness.
Our first night in Jodhpur was intended purely as a stop-over. Our goal was Jaisalmer, a town carved of sandstone, deep in the Thar desert, near the Pakistani border. So one night at the Bhawan, two in Jaisalmer, then two at the Bhawan again before Jaipur. So, after a day-long drive - including detours for a circumambulation of a temple, a sandstorm, and a pond full of huge cranes - we found ourselves, dusty and exhausted at the "best hotel in Jaisalmer".
And shit out of luck.
If we are to believe Expedia, a confirmation number for the reservation (which they gave me, over the phone) was faxed from the hotel to Expedia, guaranteeing our reservation. If we are to believe the hotel, they've never heard of us, Expedia, or the Internet. Expedia was hugely apologetic, offering a gift certificate and asking the hotel to book us other accomodations. The hotel was not apologetic. After an hour's long standoff in the lobby, they grudgingly called the hotel next door, which found us their last room, with twin beds. And then they charged me $15 for the call to Expedia...
So we're not in the best hotel in Jaisalmer. And tomorrow, we check out of our twin beds and next door to another hotel that isn't the best hotel in Jaisalmer. But I am consoled by the lovely fort that dominates the town, the narrow alleys of the havelis, the promise of a camel ride and sunset over the dunes tomorrow. And the fact that we're returning to one of the nicest hotels in the entire world in about 48 hours...